


Hello My Old Heart

by Gingerlis



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: F/M, Poe-centric, Singer/Songwriter AU, everyone frequents the same pub
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-08
Updated: 2016-03-08
Packaged: 2018-05-25 03:54:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6179185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gingerlis/pseuds/Gingerlis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt from 18tpaz</p><p>Poe is a seemingly washed up singer/songwriter who infrequently visits the pub Takanada. One evening someone begins filling in the blanks of his lyrics whenever he leaves the table and it's the singular inspiration he needs to start living his life again. Also featuring: Rey who is an important part of the story, Finn the friendly bartender, Leia the put-upon producer, and Maz the omniscient pub owner.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hello My Old Heart

**Author's Note:**

> From this prompt from 18tpaz:
> 
> "DAMEREY AU - Music & Lyrics  
> Poe Dameron is a bankrupt singer-songwriter struggling to regain his former popularity while obscure-songbird Rey is a frustrated poet who ends up waiting tables at Poe’s favorite pub.
> 
> After Rey inadvertently fills the missing words to Poe’s incomplete work, the two slowly begin spending more time together in a crazy attempt to write the next chart-topping song. And maybe…become the next music powerhouse couple."
> 
> So this was supposed to be a short one shot that really took on a life of its own. Sorry about that. And I feel like this seriously needs a second part from Rey's perspective because she was in so little of this and it's a Poe/Rey story and I'm also sorry about that. Anyway, I hope you like my offering, I felt like I've read so many of these fics that I should really contribute to the community and though I've never actually written a fanfic before I thought I'd give it a go.

 

_Hello my old heart_

_How have you been?_

_Are you still there inside my chest?_

* * *

 

Silence hung heavy over the loft, broken intermittently by the soft, soothing wheezes of the slumbering tabby. _Plunk_. A note ripples through the string, fluctuating with the vibrations followed by another _plunk_ , another note.

A sigh slips heavily from his lips and the guitar is placed on the stand next to the sofa. He needs a moment, a breath of air, a change of scenery. Snatching up the small notebook from the coffee table before him, he slips his coat on, the sound of the door opening and shutting with a click of the lock following moments after. The slight wheezing of the cat pauses as it perks open an eye to watch this new flurry of activity before slowly closing it again

Poe Dameron was tired. Tired in the heart, and soul, and in the well that used to contain the creativity he drew his living from. The soft thudding of his feet on pavement was legato broken by the staccato crackles of leaves underfoot, his feet following a path he had traversed on many other occasions, the streetlights lighting up his path.

The familiar sounds of the pub as he slipped in were accentuated by the Woody Guthrie song humming lightly through the clinking of cups shifting on trays and the liquid sloshing into glasses as the bartender filled up another one. Takodana gave off an air of melancholy, everyone just as starved as he was, whether it was for food, drink, or life it didn’t seem to matter, everyone was waiting for something.

Slipping into a rounded booth, entirely too big for one person but consideration was not a common occurrence in this pub, Poe dropped the notebook onto the table in front of him cracking open the weathered spine and fingered the pencil that had fixated a dent into the pages. Despite the abject hopelessness that permeated the pub it was in fact busy, the single waitress bustling about, flyaway hairs fluttering as she danced between tables and the clack of the tap dropping to pour out beer never quieting. But the busyness was soothing, life continuing on despite his seeming lack of it.

A few minutes passed and the waitress still seemed harried with the patrons already putting strain on her attention so Poe stood, leaving his notebook open to the current set of lyrics he had been working on as he made his way to the bar to order his drink, alleviating as much stress from the petite woman as he could.

“Hey Poe!” The cheerful bartender called out, plopping a glass down onto the bar, flashing a broad smile as he reached behind to grab the whisky Poe preferred. Finn’s brow glinted with sweat at the continuous labor he’d been performing since the pub had opened a few hours ago, the low light shadowing his face but not his demeanor.

“Hey buddy,” a smile cracking his normally impassive features, “Business seems to be doing well tonight.” A small bottle of ginger beer was deposited next to the whiskey, and Poe pulled both liquids closer to him. “Business would be better with some live music, you know?” Finn hollered over the din, another smile quirking Poe’s lips as he turned away, “I’ll just add it all to your tab, yeah?”

Setting the glass and bottle onto the table, Poe settled back into his seat, pouring some of the ginger beer into the whiskey, allowing the smooth liquid to seep into his stomach and attempt to warm the emptiness that had settled there long ago.

Better. This was better. A few more sips and the warmth had flowed through his body, through his limbs, relaxing him and allowing his fingers to fiddle with the pencil again as he refocused on the words scratched across the page. New handwriting weaved between his, round, bubbly, full of life and hope. New words mingled with his lyrics, filling up the little spaces that had seemed empty before, completing the song in a way he hadn’t been able to do since his so-called “glory days.”

His head flicked up, twisting this way and that attempting to figure out who had invaded his table, not sure whether to be thankful or put-out. But no eyes returned his gaze, and no head seemed to be turned in his direction. In fact the pub seemed to be moving along as it always did, in stilted conversations and a fluid movement of liquid from tap to glass, from glass to mouth. Synchronized in its despondency.

The night continued on, each movement to the bar adding a few new lines to the words he continued to etch out onto the page, his lyrical ghost there and gone before he returned, the only continuous movement was the waitress continuing to flit between tables. Hours passed like this, nearly an entire song completing itself before him, the accompanying music beating through his fingers and out onto the table, his hands itching for a guitar to begin setting the tabs. And at last when he could take no more of the half-complete songs, melodies and harmonies running through his head, he paid out his tab and collected his notebook before letting the pub door swing shut behind him, not noticing the one face that looked up at his exit.

The only sound that welcomed him as he made his way into the door of his loft was the excited meowing of the pudgy tabby that weaved its way between his legs, happiness evident in the low purring and constant head rubbing the orange cat exhibited.

“Hey BB8! Yeah, yeah, I’m happy to see you too.” A huff of laughter exhaled from his lips as he knelt down to rub the animal, lifting him into his arms and carrying him into the kitchen to pour out some food and raid his fridge for a snack before slipping off to bed.

 

* * *

 

The following night Poe returned to the pub, Finn giving him another warm smile and a familiar drink, notebook cracked open, a new song bared and ready to be worked on. Every step away from the notebook had him returning to a new word, or line, the phantom being so bold as to cross out some of his own lyrics and replacing them. He’d started including the guitar tabs below the lines, and within the tabs a second harmony was born, weaving deftly in his own notes and filling the music with a robustness that enriched it past the singular songwriter genre that had defined his career up to this point.

Night after night this continued, songs building themselves on paper, four songs completed in the span of a week, more than he’d written on his own in over a year. And yet his ghost of a lyricist remained just that, and despite his attempts to catch them he never seemed to return to the table with even a glimmer of who had amended his songs once again.

Finn at first had questioned his continual appearance after a year of spontaneous nights that mostly consisted of drinking until barely lucid enough to wander home, but upon realizing the progressive upturn of his friend’s demeanor the questions of why ended. Instead Finn focused on pulling future plans out of a man who had, up until recently had seemed to live on a day-to-day basis.

Previously filled with the resounding echo of emptiness, punctuated by the plaintive meow of a concerned cat, Poe’s days were now filled with the strumming of a guitar, playing half a harmony. It took a week, but Poe finally gathered the courage together to finally call his producer and inform her of his current situation. It only took an hour for Leia Organa Solo to appear at his loft, business suit still pressed, but high heels held in one hand, barefoot feet plodding across his hardwood floors.

“So you have an anonymous lyricist whom even you don’t know and yet you have four new songs, nearly a third of an album, which is more than I think you’ve ever approached me with?” Leia’s hands weaved peacefully through BB8’s fur that was slowly shedding onto her pristine suit, not that she seemed to mind at all.

“Yes.” Poe responded, his hands still gripping the neck of the guitar that he had been playing on only moments before.

“It happens at Takodana, did you say? Maz Kanata’s place?” A quick nod from Poe was barely noticed as Leia’s face took on a far off look, “That was one of Han’s favorite places…” a flicker of pain appearing on her face before it was erased and replaced by the business face she kept quickly on hand. “I used to book you gigs there didn’t I? Before- well, before.” And instead of her pain, it was his, pain and anger at remembrance. Remembrance of betrayal.

But again feelings were pushed aside, Poe didn’t need to live in the past anymore. He’d been doing that for eighteen months already. What he needed was to write again, to create again, to forget the life that Ren was living, built on the foundation of stolen songs and broken friendships. A hand placed on his forearm drew him from his place of musings, and Leia’s concerned face drifted back into view.

“I’m glad, by the way, that you’re writing again. And… I’m sorry.” Standing up and brushing off the cat fur that had created a second layer of her skirt, the cat himself weaving cheerily through her legs, Leia turned back to Poe, “Find the lyricist and I can get you some recording time. I want this album Poe Dameron. I know there are people out there that want it too.” And with that, shoes still swinging from her fingertips, Leia left the loft.

 

* * *

 

That following evening, back in his booth in the pub, Poe kept an even more attentive eye on the fellow patrons, his nightly reoccurrence there giving him acute knowledge of the fellow regulars. And yet none seemed quite right, the lyrics that wrote themselves on the page giving an air of cheerful optimism that the general crowd of the pub seemed to lack. The person had a way of taking even his most dreary of line and switching it around to something with hope, adding a depth to lyrics with a deftness that spoke towards their intelligence that Poe could not help but admire.

Another busy night, Finn’s body moving here and there as he filled glasses, slipped dirty glasses into the dishwasher beneath the counter, and flicked a rag across recently vacated spots along the bar. Poe idly tapped out the rhythm of one of the recently written songs as he quietly hummed along, waiting for Finn to finish up with another customer before moving towards him.

“Hey man! What can I get you? Is it a whiskey or beer night?” Finn asked, flipping a smile over Poe’s shoulder. The man twisted his head around to catch a glance at who and all he saw was the familiarly unique bun of the waitress.

“Beer night. And you know, I hate to complain but I don’t think your waitress has ever stopped at my table.” Finn had ducked down to grab a clean glass, his eyes upturning to meet Poe’s.

“Rey? Are you sure? Who do you think clears away your empty glasses?”

The din of the bar diminished as clarity burst itself before Poe’s eyes. How had he missed that? How had he missed her? And of course it had been her, who else was always moving when he was gone? Who else was there every night that he was?

His head spun around so fast he could have almost imagined he was drunk again, the world tilting slightly on its axis and the bubbly euphoria that swept through in a giddy wave. He’d finally found her, his own personal muse.

“Rey? You said her name was Rey?” He asked quickly turning back only briefly to get a positive response out of Finn. The younger man had kept talking, probably more about the girl who’s face he’d finally gotten more than a glance at. Strong cheeks, clear brown eyes, and a free smile handed out to even the most destitute of men.

Rey. It suited her.

“Does Maz still do her Friday night mic nights?” Poe wasn’t sure if he’d cut Finn off mid-sentence, he didn’t really care, his eyes still tracking the movements of the girl who was fitting herself like a puzzle piece into the empty spaces of his phantom.

“Yeah, we have one-“ “Put me on the list will you, buddy?” And without looking back, Poe snatched up his notebook and walked out the door, leaving a befuddled Finn behind him.

 

* * *

 

 

The next two days were spent entirely confined to his loft, BB8 curled up tightly against his legs or occasionally batting random objects beneath his couch while Poe focused solely on the guitar in his lap. He’d spent the past week writing out lines to songs, always seeming like bits of his soul he’d bared, but these seemed even more so. These words were a ‘Hello,’ an ‘I don’t even know you but I desperately want to’ and seemed like they had a much bigger impact than just words held aloft on a song.

Friday came, and after two days sequestered away from the pub Poe strolled back in, hope in his heart and a guitar case in his hand. He didn’t miss the way that the waitress turned her head at his entrance, the bright smile that lit her face or the quick flash of a blush that was hastily hidden as she turned around to serve another customer.

Poe made his way to his usual booth, notebook remaining firmly closed as he got a drink from a harried Finn, a familiar shape joining him at his booth when he returned.

“You’re last on the set list.” Maz spoke out, turning to face the younger man, her crinkled face upturning into a smile as he set down his drink. “That’s what you get for joining in last minute.”

Poe shuffled his notebook away from the woman, clutching it close like a teenage girl’s diary, “Sorry Maz, I’d have given you a heads up if I’d known but… well it was a last minute choice. I just have something I need to do.” His eyes flicked briefly to the brunette who seemed to be avoiding looking in their direction at all.

But the elderly woman was perceptive, a twinkle alighting her eyes as she noticed the look in his. “I’ve spoken to Leia, you know? She mentioned something about a lyricist ghost? In my pub, no less.”

All she got from Poe was a hum of agreement, eyes still firmly trained on the lithe woman weaving expertly between bar tables, loose tan sweater fluttering behind her. Patting the man in conciliation before making her way to the small impromptu stage that had now taken up the front window.

Act after act passed by, singers, duets and nearly full bands crowding into the small space, each gaining applause after their sets before exiting the stage. Maz stood up from the booth she’d appropriated from him to announce the next act, each time returning to a Poe nervously flipping through his notebook, or following her waitress with a wistful gaze.

The second to last act finished their song, collecting their instruments as Maz shuffled up to tug the microphone down to her lowered height, “And finally tonight we have a special guest singer, I’m sure a lot of you have heard of him though he hasn’t done too much recently. Poe Dameron.”

Guitar out, fingers resting on the frets, body perched on the edge of a stool, gaze fixed out on a sea of faces staring back at him. It had been a while, but Poe felt that surge of confidence that he always seemed to get when faced with attention, that swagger that had defined his initial music career, he donned it like a familiar coat as he swung a sure smile out at the audience.

“I haven’t done this in a while, but I’m glad my first time back is here at Maz’s place. I used to play here when I first started out and it seems right to restart here. I have a few new songs I want to share with you but first I want to thank someone. Someone who was brave enough to fill in my blanks, more so than they may ever know. Someone who’s become a ray of sunshine on the life I’d let become so bleak. This is for her.”

The songs that they’d written flowed from his lips, fingers expertly strumming out the chords, the world dimming down to the microphone in front of him and single pair of eyes that seemed to stare back at him through his whole set. Ending on a song he’d written specifically for the girl whose service had seemed to be slipping from the moment he’d taken the stage.

“That last song was dedicated to the girl who I seem to, to poorly quote my own song, falling slowly for.” With that Poe made his way off stage, running full tilt in the woman he had so desperately wanted to see.

“Hi.” She spoke for the first time, her voice deep and melodic. A grin instantly spread across his face, a carefree one that had barely been seen in the last year.

“Hi. I’m Poe. Poe Dameron.” Swinging his guitar behind his back he reached up to scratch at a spot behind his ear, a tint of pink spreading across his cheeks matched by her own blush growing on hers.

“I’m Rey.”

“I know.” A long silence stretched between them before he broke it off with, “Would you like to grab a drink?”

“Yeah,” she replied, the bright smile he’d never seen directed at him widening on her face, “Though, maybe not here?” She gesticulated at the faces peering inquisitively at them, Maz and Finn included before the older woman bopped up, snagging the microphone.

“I, uhm, know a place around the corner, 24 hours? Well actually it’s my loft. And it’s not 24 hours, but if you- oh god this isn’t coming out right. Just a drink though…” the words trailed off as the pair hastily left the pub, the words of Maz on the microphone following them out. “And that’s the end of table service folks, oh pipe down, you too Finn, you’ve all got legs you can use.”

 

* * *

 

 

The hushed conversation continued between the two, hands drifting close together as they made their way to Poe’s apartment. To the warm welcome of the small orange ball of fur and to a night of songwriting and guitar playing, a small performance on the rarely used piano Poe kept in the corner, her fingers tickling over the keys in a hypnotic way. The morning sun arose to the pair asleep on the couch, guitars drifting from their fingertips, the tabby curled up in Rey’s lap and smiles alighting both their lips.

There was coffee and more conversation, eggs and toast prepared with glee that cleared out the morose cobwebs that had seemed to linger in his lofts. A shy farewell and a promise for meeting up soon was exchanged, the sun seeming to already have set on Poe’s day with the absence of his sunshine.

Months passed along, nights full of guitar playing turning into nights of exchanged kisses and more, her items littering his loft and his life, BB8 seeming to attach himself firmly to her and refusing to let go. And though she already lived at his place by this point, it wasn’t until his first album in three years was set to be completed that he asked the question.

“How about the album reads, ‘Lyrics by Poe and Rey Dameron?’”


End file.
